


AEGRI SOMNIA

by FlowersAndViscera



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Coming of Age, F/F, F/M, Female-Centric, Feminist Themes, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, Magical Healing Vagina, Mind Games, Plot With Porn, Religious Discussion, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowersAndViscera/pseuds/FlowersAndViscera
Summary: Luna decided to make love to the abyss.She took a step back and turned around, letting the dark depths swallow her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartbone (ergo_existence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ergo_existence/gifts).



> Based on a kinkmeme prompt. The story kinda took a life of its own after I began writing, so here we are. The original requester thought the pairing cannot make sense in canon and I guess I read that as a challenge. Cue a cascade of plot and lore development, because let's be honest, I'm a lore whore and I only need an excuse to indulge myself. 
> 
> Focus will be on Luna and Ardyn, with the rest of the tagged ships being important in their own way but secondary. Note the absence of the non-con tag. Everything that happens is consensual, no matter the circumstances. That doesn't mean the relationship is untroubled. It is romantic as much as it is grotesque, and there's a lot of issues at play. The only thing I can promise is that Luna can hold her own. 
> 
> For my dearest Heartbone, who inspired me to write fic longer than 300 words and spell titles in all caps.

When Luna first laid her eyes upon the Accursed, she was eight years old.

“He looks to be in a lot of pain,” she had said, standing in front of an oil painting that was both taller and heavier than her. The furrow on her pale little brow didn't suit her age. Neither did the seriousness in her voice or the rigid formality of her dress.

Clad in ivory and white, she stood out against the all-consuming black of the Lucian capital. Their scheduled tour of the Citadel had been long and exhausting, filled with endless staircases, and conversations she could not follow between her mother and the King. Her future fiance was too ill to attend, her brother too occupied with his military training. So Luna was left to trot beside the rest of the Tenebraen envoy with her best-behaved manners, in the midst of a foreign palace where every seat was too big and every person was too busy to give any comfort to her sore feet. Despite the people surrounding her, Luna felt alone, save for Gentiana’s reassuring cold fingers wrapped around her hand. Not once did she complain, however. The future Oracle was raised to endure, trained as she had been to carry the world on her shoulders from the cradle to her grave. Her childhood had only lasted until her naming ceremony, a year and a day after birth. The Prince of Lucis had barely grown out of wetting his bed but Lunafreya was already standing in the Lucian Royal Gallery, staring at her fate in the face.

“The First King suffered a lot, didn't he?” she said again, taking a quick glance to the left to make sure her mother was well out of hearing range. Lady Sylva smiled at her daughter from across the room before returning to a conversation about the forced disarmament of Accordo. Luna turned back to her attendant, relieved. “He was dethroned and this is why none of the Lucis Caelums have red hair.”

“Correct,” Gentiana’s voice came in reply.

“I like his hair, it's very pretty.”

“In the old lost testaments, the First King’s visage was compared in beauty to that of the Pyreburner.”

“Was Lord Ifrit handsome?”

“Very. Until humanity's betrayal ate away at his heart and the Scourge twisted his mind.”

“Then he was turned into a monster, just like the King of Light himself” 

“Correct.”

Luna didn’t have the words to fully describe the nature of the matter. The seeds of womanhood still lay dormant inside her, unbroken. But as she squeezed her attendant’s hand, she was conscious of her duty.

“I will be the one to make them right again.”

There was no room for doubt in that statement. Gentiana’s painted lips curled upwards, while Luna kept her eyes fixed on the portrait of the man who would one day become her lover.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time she was fifteen, Luna owned multiple versions of the Cosmogony. The most innocuous were displayed on her mantlepiece; limited edition prints that had gone untouched as to not taint their value, the children's abridged version with its old-fashioned watercolour illustrations, tomes bound in leather and gold leaf, antique books that were passed down hand to hand in her family. Together, they added to the image of her as a pious maiden, wholly devoted to her studies and her gods.

Being a political prisoner was an ongoing exercise in theatrics. She tolerated it like any other pearl in her long necklace of responsibilities. None of it was ever a choice. Luna had stayed behind, along with the weeping heir of Tenebrae and the ashes of the last Oracle, so that the men of Lucis could run. Her brother dealt with the pain by living in constant repentance. He expended his energy, his life, in a sisyphean effort to prove himself greater than all expectation, but Luna understood that the bars of this gilded cage could bend to her will if only her captors underestimated her. She had learned to keep her voice soft for the same reason; her stride small, her nails filed down. Under the guidance of Gentiana, Luna had learned to hide truth and emotion into her sleeve until the time was right to use them. As her attendant taught her, a wise one’s strength lay in the foolishness of others, and Luna’s Armiger was almost entirely made out of words.

So she kept adding to her showy literature collection, while the only version of Cosmogony she bothered to read remained hidden beneath a loose floorboard in her bedroom. Its pages had to be handled with care lest they crumble under the weight of their years; its woodblock prints studied under strong light because the ink was so faded. A copy of a copy of an original that had been outlawed more than twelve centuries before, this apocryphal version of Cosmogony was three times the size of the one in common circulation. Even censored, it was enough to disgrace her entire bloodline if discovered. And yet, Luna slept peacefully knowing the only ones who could read it, aside from her, were the gods and the Accursed. His native language had died with Solheim, after all. Was it not for Shiva living under her roof, Luna would not have learned to speak it either. 

“When did these pages go missing?” she asked on a winter night. The book on her lap bore annotations upon annotations from the hands of countless scholars, each of them commenting on the work of the last until their debates had begun to spread across several generations. In the margins of chapter XV, part IV, a note to the reader lamented the loss of over four hundred poetry verses.

“They were the first to be torn out when the Cult of the Dragon began to spread from the East,” spoke Gentiana from her place next to the window. 

“Did Bahamut’s revisionists find the poem too vulgar?” 

“The God of War himself is celibate. His followers were scandalised by the vivid descriptions of Lord Ifrit and Lady Shiva’s lovemaking.”

“Strange to think the peddlers of death would be disgusted by the very acts that created the world.” 

“Unlike the Lovers, the Dragon embodies both male and female. Lord Bahamut’s nature as an androgyne brought forth the idea that to seek union with another body was to admit at being incomplete. His followers seek to emulate him in shedding their material skin, and ascending to a spiritual place where such petty desires no longer exist.”

“The most devout would castrate themselves,” continued Luna, picking up from where her attendant had intentionally stopped to check her student's knowledge of the scriptures. “The Dragon’s teachings claimed that blood cleanses sin. To die without spilling it is to refuse ascension. Living things are born tainted from the worldly desires of their parents, thus the most noble end to anyone comes on the edge of a blade.”

Gentiana listened with her eyes perpetually closed, waiting for a question she knew would come sooner or later.

“Did you ever feel weak for wanting the Pyreburner’s body?”

“No.”

Luna’s voice betrayed she didn't feel the same. Her own body had been a chamber of torture since womanhood began to blossom. She kept waking up, soaked down to the bedsheets, with a craving her fingers couldn't sate. “I hate how ashamed this makes me.”

“Of course. The Draconian clergy taught that the cunt is the source of all sin, salvaged only by the pains of childbirth. All culture after the fall of Solheim was build on His influence.”

Luna flinched at hearing a certain word, until she remembered how many times it was mentioned in the lost verses of her book. Gentiana would recite the erotic poem in its entirety while teaching the girl how to touch herself. It spoke about islands and continents being shaped from lava dripping between the Glacian’s breasts; the sea a frothing seminal fluid, springing violently from her colossal body as the Infernian brought her to orgasm again and again. In the worship of the Lovers, cunts and cocks had no need for redemption. They were blessed by the act of Creation. It was upon this belief the apocryphal prophecies patterned their ritual of healing. 

Luna had bought a copy of the Passion of the First King that hung in her room. Like her books, the sizeable oil painting added to her performance of pious innocence. Her captors didn't know how she would often sit across from it in her plush study chair and appreciate the Accursed’s beauty with her hand between her legs.

When she was buying her prayer candles, she turned to Gentiana for advice, since the goddess had lived long enough to know what length and girth best resembled the First King’s cock. With their smooth rounded edges, they made a fine accompaniment to Luna’s spiritual contemplations. Creamy thighs far apart and underwear discarded on the floor, she would wonder if his suffering resembled in any way his pleasure. 

No pain was ever felt on her end, despite her own cunt being that of a virgin. The maidenhead was an idea, Gentiana had taught her. Where the Dragon demanded its bloody sacrifice, the Lovers were more content with an offering of temporal madness.

As the evidence of a mind-numbing orgasm soaked into her velvet cushions, Luna looked down and reminded herself that this is how the oceans had once been made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, this is the painting she's fapping to: 
> 
> https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/finalfantasy/images/c/cc/Ardyn-Izunia-Crucified-FFXV.png
> 
> And yes, it's the same one she was looking at as a child.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why, look who's here.

At sixteen, Luna ascended to her mother’s place. In the distance, the last days of summer were dying alongside the remaining vestiges of her innocence, while she, the youngest Oracle in history, was finally allowed to breathe out and lift her gaze off the marble floors to look at the man standing before her.

“Congratulations, your Reverence,” said the Accursed and every page of the Cosmogony was lit aflame in Luna’s mind. 

In an ideal world she could approach him and let the clothes slide off his shoulders; his many coats a heap of wool and cotton on the carpet while she reached for his skin without fear. In an ideal world, she would kiss his eyelids in greeting. She would run her fingers over his scarred chest, at long last able to examine the marks of the plague on the King she had spent a lifetime reading about. 

Sadly, the world was not ideal, so when Ardyn Lucis Caelum finally walked through her chamber door, Luna had to sit and wait for his false persona to be formally introduced to her instead. The Chancellor of Niflheim stepped into the autumn light and Luna could taste iron as she bit harder on the inside of her lip. His face was unchanged from the paintings of old, and yet somehow the King had morphed into a parody of himself. He took off his hat and held it over his nonexistent heart with a bow so deep that it could only be mockery: 

“Truly, an honour.”

His mess of red hair in the sunset was an image of the Infernian fire, his stature far taller than hers once he had straightened his back. Luna’s palms were sweating, but they were to remain chastely folded around the Oracle's trident, while her ridiculous ceremonial dress continued to suffocate her in lace, embroidered organza and silk.

“Apologies for being so late,” he said unapologetically, and looked at her the way an old man looks at a newborn. To him their meeting was but a fleeting moment in his long, long life. His amber eyes had seen the world fall and rise anew many times over, and Lunafreya Nox Fleuret was nothing more than another chess piece in a thousand year old plan. The man calling himself Ardyn Izunia took in his surroundings exactly like an immortal would be expected to; with an infinite sense of boredom.

She decided she liked him when he forsook all etiquette and refused to kiss her hand.

“Our nation has had an onerous week suppressing Accordo’s petty rebellion on the border. I fear this humble servant of yours couldn’t make much time to shave. And believe me, you wouldn't want the scruff chafing your ivory skin.”

He spoke the way all liars did. His words were delivered dripping with honey, even if that languid gaze betrayed him. Not that he seemed bothered about the transparency of his facade. Daemons writhed under his skin at her mere presence but he did well in concealing the pain beneath a mask of indifference and lighthearted mirth. 

The letter addressed to her by the Emperor was wrinkled from sitting in his coat pocket. He threw it haphazardly on the table, looking far more interested in the vintage wine her maids had brought to serve him. She couldn't be bothered opening the ornate envelope anyway. Such a letter wasn't even written by the emperor's hand, only signed, full of the typical pleasantries and congratulations on her Ascension.

“A child Oracle.” as the chancellor deemed fit to remind her. “My, my…how the definition of youth has changed since my time. When I was sixteen the most sophisticated interests I could muster were amateur astronomy and chasing skirts.”

The last one was only half a lie. The First King had been a lover to many women during his travels, most of them former victims of the Scourge. But according to oral history, he had a distinct preference for younger fair-haired men. He sipped his wine, looking at her over the rim of his glass and for a moment Luna pictured him on his knees with that very same gaze in his eyes, licking fresh semen from his fingers while some freckled, doe-eyed boy watched from above. Luna brought her thighs closer together and realised she was wet. 

“In the not so distant past, a girl was considered a woman at fourteen. Younger even, if lord Bahamut chose to bless her with blood early.” In truth, it had been several centuries since the law was changed. The age of majority had continued to rise alongside the marvels of medicine and the span of people’s lives, but Ardyn’s smile faltered for a split moment, just as Luna thought it would. He was fourteen himself when the gods first decided to visit and ascertain his worth; a priest’s son whose piousness extended to sneaking inside the temple gardens at night only to admire Shiva’s lifelike statues. 

The goddess was always depicted nude before the fall of Solheim, her anatomy sculpted in lewd, meticulous detail; a tribute and testament to the beauty of her creations, since all human women had been modelled after her image. Long before he became King, young Ardyn had been infatuated with one her statues, forsaking sleep to admire her for hours at a time. Maidens were known to seek out Ifrit’s bronze effigies, after all; the ones that showed him sitting amongst his sacred animals, one hand tangled into a goat’s fur while the other held up an erect phallus. According to legend, Ifrit himself had taught humans both the arts of sculpting and masturbation. During his divine reign, giving up one’s virginity to the gods was more sensible than risking one’s heart and body, one’s health and life, on a fellow mortal. Youth is fickle, capricious and as such, Shiva’s lover understood it too well. 

Gentiana had whispered the story into Luna’s ear, about how the Accursed learned what an orgasm is while his mouth feverishly tried to make love to stone.

“Blood and disease. The gods truly are cruel. A woman’s work deals with so much pain and filth. An Oracle’s even more so,” Ardyn said with mock sympathy, tapping the side of his glass. “If I didn’t know better, your Reverence, I would think you a little too eager to embrace the taint of your duty.”

Luna’s knuckles were going white on the trident. With no one but her divine attendant at her side, she was alone with him in this drawing room of high ceilings and priceless antiques. Fenestala Manor was respectfully quiet, despite the ongoing celebrations in the Tenebraen streets. The maids had retreated, and guards patiently waited outside the door, while the Oracle took her time to greet each visiting guest and diplomat. Theirs was a meeting rooted in stiff tradition, about forging new alliances and renewing the old ones in the hope that their respective nations could maintain a semblance of peace. Not that Luna had any faith left in diplomacy. The old ways of resolving conflict had died with her mother. This was nothing but theatre, an endless parade of empty words that they endured for a chance to look at each other. Without any underwear, arousal soaked into the seat of her dress, staining the white that symbolised her purity. If she chose to, she could have untied the lace on the back of her neck, freeing her breasts and giving him a glimpse at her hardened pink nipples. She could have had Gentiana lock the door behind him and in a goddess’s voice order him to undress. 

“Once you know better, perhaps you’ll understand taint is not the right word for it.”

Some stories claimed the daemons inside the fallen First King had given him an ability to read minds. Luna was ready to believe them all when Ardyn’s gaze rose from his wine only to flicker downwards. Silence stretched between them, then his smile grew longer. 

“Midnight,” he said casually, taking a step backwards to put down his glass and pick up his hat. “At the old sanctuary. We can continue our discussion of semantics then. Looking forward to having you aid this fool’s lacking education.”

The doors closed with a heavy thud. The last appointment of the day was over. 

Ardyn had left behind nothing but the faint scent of his perfume and a near empty glass. Gentiana picked it up to offer the wine to Luna, who shook her head. “I’m not allowed to drink.”

With a nod of understanding, Gentiana continued to hold it as her mistress put Bahamut’s trident against the wall to unlace an intricate embroidered belt. Without a way to get out of her dress, Luna was satisfied with pushing aside just enough layers of fabric to reveal her dripping wet crotch. She held her thighs together as her attendant poured the leftover wine into the triangle formed. With a bow of her head, Gentiana proceeded to finish the drink in the Oracle’s stead, her experienced tongue not missing a single drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original requester also said they have no squicks other that bathroom stuff, so I guess I read that as a challenge too. Otherwise known as "how many niche kinks can I fit into a single fic while keeping the prose classy?"
> 
> Also, please tell me you all caught my unsubtle Ardyn×Prompto reference, because I'm utter trash and could use some company in my trash bin.


	4. Chapter 4

The night was moonless, and Ardyn late. It was on purpose, of course. Unlike ephemeral humans, he had no need to eat or rest. This abundance of free time only served to elongate his immortality, his torment, and like every bitter man, he enjoyed toying with others. So he made Luna wait. 

She stood surrounded by broken stone arches, on a raised piece of rock that had served as a place of worship since times of antiquity. All the havens around Eos had been temples and altars once, even if the nature of the gods’ preferred sacrifices had changed. The sacred Tenebraen beast, a horned horse, looked down upon her from the remains of a marbled roof while Luna folded and unfolded her arms, tired. Bahamut’s trident had been left in its display case. The Oracle looked small amongst the ruins, hair braided over the shoulder of a simple white blouse, and hands empty. A pair of thin legs that had barely seen the sun peeked out from the plainest of skirts. Without her high heels and ceremonial finery, Luna could pass for a servant. 

She was content with the thought.

“What would your dear brother think had he known about his sister’s scandalous late-night liaisons with foreign diplomats?”

Warm breath caressed the back of Luna’s neck as Ardyn appeared behind her, seemingly materialising from the shadows. He leaned close to savour her perfume while his hands remained safely tucked in his coat, mouth hovering near her exposed skin without touching it. She hadn’t heard him approach. Not a single leaf had rustled in his way, as if nature itself wished to avoid him. Her stomach lurched, nails digging into her forearms. From this close, she could hear the daemons screaming inside his blackened veins. Being in her presence aggravated them. If she remained quiet, Luna could almost understand them, cursing her in tongues long dead.

“My dearest brother is not here.”

“Oh, but your patron deities are.”

He nodded at Pryna who appeared at the edge of the stone circle with her tail up in the air. Ardyn tipped his hat at the dog’s direction.

“Been a while, old friend. Hope your new mistress is treating you well. Lots of belly rubs.”

Pryna let out an agitated bark and Luna raised her hand. “Settle down, pay him no mind.”

The clouds shifted and Umbra was revealed to be sitting quietly on the opposite side, observing the scene in almost perfect stillness. 

“Trying to surround me? Or give me ideas? You are not the only harlot to grace the Oracle’s lineage, you know. With how you’ve been twisting in your seat all day, I’m surprised you didn’t take the time to relieve yourself on his dog prick before our meeting." Ardyn smiled at Umbra. "He is not bad either. Legend has it Lady Stella of the Iron Age enjoyed him often. But of course, I wouldn’t know.”

Luna didn’t reply and her guardian didn’t move; merely continued looking at the Accursed with an amber gaze as deep and inhuman as his. Pryna sniffed the air. 

“Ah, is the service not here? I was hoping she would play the lyre and sing about the days of yore while I fuck you against the pedestal. Did she mention this temple was a place of ritual prostitution before the Dragoons tore it down? Her Frigidity’s silver altar was right there, in the middle. You should have seen the engravings, truly beautiful if not a bit explicit.”

Luna knew. The gods’ sculptures themselves had survived under the stone arches, though revisioned. Their shameful details had been filed down; their nude bodies dressed with flowing gowns of marble, to cover up Solheim’s indecency. 

“Bashful as any virgin, I see. Let us be done with it then. No need to look at me, dear, just bend over. Your foremothers are legendary for their appetite but much like you, I’m a busy person with places to be.”

An obvious bluff. He had no intention of letting anyone touch the scarred flesh under his clothes. He set his hat on a ruined pillar and began to take off his scarf. His manner was measured, theatrical. Luna wondered if he always had this knack for dramaturgy. With her back turned, she could only see him from the corner of her eye but it made little difference. In his current incarnation, Ardyn was nothing if not an actor on a stage, always larger than life, more flamboyant than any situation deemed necessary. The less informed might think he was enjoying eternity a little too much. Luna was instead impressed with his tolerance for pain. His joints must be in flames by now, she thought, the nerves of his spine twisted into a myriad knots. His bones vibrated with the desires of countless daemons and they all hated her for the simple hubris of existing. 

“I must say, I’m flattered you’ve been keeping my portrait in your room for so long. Was it expensive? It is only a copy, of course, but the price of anything related to me seems to be rising the further I fall. Had I known you fancied me, I could have made a few suggestions for your collection. There were far more handsome paintings of me back in the day.”

She caught his fingertips tremble on a shirt button but that smirk never faltered. 

“Coeurl got your tongue? Or has it gone dry from the incessant cock-thirst? Careful or the old lizard might decide to withdraw his favour. Is Bahamut even privy to your whorishness? You are meant to be his pious maiden after all, a reminder for all women to keep their legs closed.”

“Until a righteous warrior sees it fit to sheathe his sanctified blade in us.”

Finally graced with an answer, Ardyn clapped.

“You've been studying your scriptures, I see. Good girl.”

“You will never call me that again.”

“Demands, coming from you? I wouldn’t think your position allows much bargain.”

“You would be wrong then.”

His eyes sparked with a desire to hurt her, before he sighed and began to pick up his discarded clothing.

“Well, Your Reverence, I don’t know what feeble men you’ve been dealing with, but I won’t stand to be insulted,” he said, not sounding insulted at all. “Only so many hours a poor Niff politician can steal away from work. The journey back to Gralea is long and I need to pack my socks. Good night,” he waved a hand at her direction. “You can keep the flowers of your youth. I’m sure a nice servant girl will be happy to debauch you before your time with an oiled cucumber or whatever you creatures like to stick inside you these days.”

He began to walk away just as a few spare snowflakes appeared in sky. Snow out of season. The runes etched in the stone started to glow and Ardyn halted, mid-step with a widening smile. Daemons could not cross a sacred barrier once an Oracle has called upon the gods to raise it. These ancient markings were what kept havens safe across Eos. Ever since the manor was built, none of the Oracle's blood had thought to renew the blessing on this secluded patch of hallowed ground at the end of the royal gardens. Not until now. Luna turned around to face him.

Ardyn was laughing.

“Are we in for some good, old-fashioned raping then? A bit of hemp rope would have sufficed to trap me, you know. I wouldn’t have protested much. Only a little, for flavour.”

“You invited me willingly into a place that could imprison you,” Luna stated simply. 

“Please, spare me the wonderment. Even a heathen could tell this newly hatched god-bitch is a little too informed for her own good. Besides, I could smell your arousal from across the room. Thought some power over me might turn you on.”

“You were testing how much I know.”

“How much the walking blizzard has been telling you, more like. She has a very active mouth, that one,” Ardyn said and turned towards a huddle of aspen trees beyond the rock. “I can tell you are there, by the way. Rather hard to conceal your presence with that cold numbing everyone’s nipples. You can come out now, I won’t bite. Not unless your latest protege decides to stop wasting her own finite time and get on with the night's program. I might consider returning some of your old, sharp-toothed kisses then.”

A shadow moved under the light of the single flickering lantern and Gentiana emerged from behind the mist's shroud. She walked without hurry to the edge of the stone circle, hands folded on her lap, eyes seeing all while remaining closed. Umbra and Pryna stood at attention, framing a triangle across from her; the White of Oracles and Black of Kings, a protective crown around Lunafreya.

“The Accursed honours us with his acknowledgement,” she said, and all Ardyn could do was return her sarcastic smile.

“Now that the board is set and all the pawns are in place,” he turned back to Luna with a shallow bow, “Let us get reacquainted. I trust you know how to address me properly?”

Luna had practiced saying his name in whisper, over and over, while leafing through her forbidden readings. All in preparation for this moment.

“Ardyn Lucis Caelum,” she said, each word punctuated with a bouquet of emotions she couldn’t neither label nor name.

“Marvelous. Though the pronunciation has changed quite a bit since that name was given to me. The Infernian was rather harsh in his rampage. Our language died alongside any semblance of culture and good taste." He bowed. "I feel I must apologise for my appearance, a few centuries ago I wouldn’t be this unkempt in front of the ladies.”

“You wouldn’t be this vulgar either.”

“I fear you are wrong about this one. History likes to forget many things, and my fondness for dirty talk was but one of them.”

Ardyn rose up from his usual slouch, standing tall, at last looking at her as a challenger worthy of his attention.

“Take this for example,” he said and raised an arm, pompous and fearless even when surrounded by enemies. “O’er cursed Soil, under sunless Sky, a dread Plague the Cursed Star hath brought. In the Goddess’s Palm, Sword of Flesh drawing nigh, the Last Oracle’s Judgement is sought. Her Anointing Oil, such drawn forth from her Thigh, on the Fallen King’s Forehead bestowed. ‘Long live thy Line, and thy Womb benign, for the Night When All Blades Come to Rot.’” 

“Cosmogony, 7:2. Nadir’s Old Testament,” Luna added as the man made circles around her like a serpent.

“Excellent. Glad I’m not the only one who bothered to memorise the original prophecy before Bahamut’s lot got their collective forked tongue on the books.” He had recited the poem with gleeful disgust, one that had been likely breeding for eons. He came to a standstill before her and looked down. “You seem very well versed in the apocryphal ways. Seeking to take the little prince’s place on the slaughtering block?” 

“No.”

“Of course, pardon me. Nobody dies in the Old Testament. Well, apart from the Oracle, she’s fucked regardless.” 

“Instead of the King sacrificing himself on the battlefield, the Oracle absorbs the sins of humankind into her body, so she can exorcise them by the collective force of her bloodline.” 

“Yes, yes.” His voice drawled, ever mocking, then suddenly dropped to a far less amused tone. “Guess what happened the last time we tried something similar.” 

“You were not an Oracle.”

“And yet I was burdened with one’s duties before your family was even appointed to the position, thanks to my brother misinterpreting Nadir’s nonsense, amongst other things. Worth a try, though, wasn’t it?” he asked towards the direction of Gentiana who neither moved nor responded. “We had a good run before it all fell apart. The Six like their little experiments,” he said and turned back to Luna. “Did you know the creation of humanity was an experiment too? Oh, I bet they regretted that one. Should have stayed with fashioning new kinds of jellyfish.”

Luna opened her mouth to respond but he interrupted her with a raised finger. “Now, now. Let me clarify one thing; I did not come here for a dialogue. This tragedy has been planned for centuries by the same egotistical deities you serve. Your perspective on it is of little consequence. We both have a role to play and as you know, the Oracle dies in every version of the prophecy. So do us a favour and put all this knowledge into accepting your fate with renewed grace. As glad as I am to find you so fabulously educated, this little night stroll is over.”

Luna studied his features for a good few moments before settling back. “Is that how it’s going to be?”

“Not unless you want to carry on with your attempts at persuasion. I’m trapped, am I not? I have to warn you, however, patience has grown to be somewhat of a talent of mine. You can keep talking, if you’d like. I’ll just sit here and wait for dawn. Or for you to die of old age.”

True to his word, he dusted a piece of marble and sat on it, cross-legged, hat politely held on his lap. He fixed his coat in place, then continued to look at her, chin raised, one corner of the lips curled upwards. Luna’s jaw tightened.

“I thought you might say that,” she said and began undoing her braid.

“Trying to tempt me with your feminine wiles? No offence, dear, but in 2000 years I’ve seen it all. Unless you are keeping the Monster of the Deep inside your cunt, I’m afraid it’ll be hard to impress me.”

She didn’t grace him with an answer, merely continued to undress until she was down to her long camisole and stockings. From the side of the lantern, she picked a spare bottle of oil. 

“Do you like sylleblossom oil? It is my favourite.”

“Sylleblossoms were a peasant flower when I first travelled Eos," he replied. "Rose and lavender is what Kings used in lovemaking.”

“So I’ve read. The farming families would gather and use it for fuel instead. It burns very well.”

By the time realisation fluttered in his gaze, Luna had already climbed backwards on the altar and poured the entire bottle down her front. The oil soaked the thin fabric of her remaining clothes, leaving her breasts clearly visible as it dripped down her legs. She looked at him and picked up the lantern. 

“Self-immolation? Looks like I underestimated your piety.” 

“You underestimated more than just that.”

Without hesitation, she threw the lantern on the pool of oil that had formed at her feet. The liquid caught fire immediately, bathing the circle in a brilliant hot light. Sitting on the altar, the air around Luna feet was merely licked by the flames, but it wouldn’t be long before they engulfed her.

Ardyn kept smiling but it was obvious he wasn’t amused at all. He turned to Gentiana who continued to stand with her fingers laced together, steadfast before the scene that unfolded in her presence. “You could put this out with a mere sigh, but you won’t, will you? Such is the benevolence of the gods. Your most faithful servant will burn herself alive while you watch, because her life holds as much value as mine once did. Then again, I suppose the smell of burning flesh holds a certain nostalgic value for your kind.”

The dogs looked nervous but Gentiana didn’t flinch, even as the Oracle’s breathing became less even. Stripped down and waiting on the stone altar for death, Luna looked more like royalty than Ardyn had ever seen her.

“Is this what you want to be, foolish girl? A sacrificial lamb for the glory of those who by their very nature will never cease looking down on us?”

“‘The Oracle dies in every version of the prophecy,’” she repeated his own words, blue eyes reflecting the heat like steel being tempered. “But I know that you need me alive for a good while longer.” She reached under the hem of her camisole to pull off her underwear; a small piece of cotton that she dropped into the fire. Between her thighs, blonde curls glistened with excitement and sweat. She stared at Ardyn and he stared back as the seconds ticked on.

Ardyn stood up and with a sigh, he threw his hat to Gentiana. “Here, hold this for me.” He stepped into the blaze and the flames didn’t touch him. Instead, they parted in his path, the elements of Eos too repulsed to come in contact with his taint. Luna’s gut coiled in excitement and fear; a nest of snakes roused in the depths of her belly after being made to wait for far too long.

“You will regret this,” Ardyn said in her ear with a guttural growl, his voice no longer being entirely his. He breathed heavily through his nose, pain striking him alongside the scent of her body, but Luna could feel a desire that lay dormant for centuries stirring under his skin. She didn’t answer, simply grabbed him by the lapels of his coat to bring him down for a kiss; fierce, demanding; her first. He tasted of dirt and poppyseed, a poison distilled from beyond the grave, yet beneath it all she could taste a hint of honey and she wanted it badly. He opened his mouth to her, and Luna sought him with tongue and teeth and nails. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her naked crotch rubbing on the seat of his trousers without Luna even realising. She was fumbling with his belt when a hand appeared abruptly to take her wrist into a bruising vise. 

“That one is out of bounds. For now.”

He kissed her hand instead and put it between her legs, moving it in small circles. “You know how to play with it, yes? Spread those thighs dear,” he said, loud enough for Gentiana to hear him, while his own fingers left a caress across her damp pubic hair. “The Six need to witness you anointing me for the ritual to stand a chance. Besides, the Frost Hag likes to watch.”

Luna’s own, known, comforting touch was not enough to prevent the shock of being invaded by another one’s hand. Ardyn parted her nether lips with a sound she felt more than she heard, and Luna found herself grasping at that autumnal red hair for support. His fingers found their way in -one, then two, then three- spreading her open, leaving her exposed, making her more naked than she had ever been before. He had a healer’s touch, she thought, yet inside her, it penetrated deeper than any object she had used for her pleasure.

Her teeth left a bleeding cut on his bottom lip and Ardyn made sure to lick the blackness, only to give the taste back to her. He cradled her body with thorned affection, and Luna, secretly savouring the rebelliousness of her deflowerment, leaned forward to ride the Accursed’s hand, rub herself into the calloused heel of his palm. Stubbornly, she held in her moans until her throat was dry and sore. Ardyn was soaked to his sleeve.

The Oracle came with the First King’s fingers fingers inside her, face buried in his shirt. The fire couldn’t come near while his cursed shadow towered over the altar, and yet Luna was burning, burning to her core while the skin split open at the corners of his mouth and black ichor stained her wherever he kissed.

She didn’t remember passing out, only waking up by herself under the grey shine of dawn, her camisole barely covering her nudity, her lips going blue as a gentle snow danced in the air with aspen cotton and ashes. The flames had long died down. The ancestral runes long gone dark. She closed her eyes in exhaustion while the sound of paws on the stone drew near. When she opened them again, Luna was in her bed, bathed and dressed in her nightgown with Gentiana sitting at her side and Pryna nuzzling her cheek. She sat up, aching but smiling, and took her attendant’s hand.

“We made it. The contract is sealed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is mysteriously twice the length of the last. At this rate, the epilogue will be a small novel of its own.
> 
> Also, I found there is no tag for Casual Mentions of Bestiality. Maybe I should make one. 
> 
> You can tell I'm having way too much fun writing Ardyn's dialogue.


	5. Chapter 5

At twenty four, Luna would at last return to Insomnia. In another life, another existence, that sweet boy whom she had once written to would be there to welcome her. Argentum, that was the name stitched on his kerchief. Prompto Argentum. During a rare moment of happiness she had seen photos of him and Noctis together; two schoolboys on a late summer’s day, brimming with the innocent joys of ignorance, blind to the gaping mouth of ruin that was soon to consume all that they knew. In another life, she could have looked through those photographs in public. She would be allowed to run and embrace both of her beloved, unrestricted by blood duty and stiff high heels. With the hum of urban living on tow, they could have been what they were meant to be; three youths dreaming of the future instead of dreading it, sitting in an unremarkable corner diner, chewing on straws that still held the flavour of milkshake. 

In this life, Luna had never been allowed to walk into a shop by herself. Every step outside her room had been counted by imperial officers whose only job was to watch and listen. Her meals were served under supervision, the portions counted and mealtimes elongated until she had emptied every plate. Her shoes came with no laces. Her wall paintings without glass. Scarves were wrapped around her neck by handmaidens on her way out of the door, to make sure the Oracle doesn’t decide to escape her destiny by hanging herself from the roof beams. Even her windows were modified so they would not open all the way. 

It was in stark defiance to the Empire that she crossed the Citadel’s threshold alone. Luna pushed aside a heavy door that hung lopsided on its hinges, almost entirely torn from the wall. Stepping over broken glass, she walked into the haunted silence of a place desolate in the wake of death. War had already marched through here. The King’s battle had already been waged and lost. 

Outside, magitek infantry continued to patrol the devastated streets, seeking down life wherever it could be found, then proceeding to eliminate it with calm, soulless precision. On her way to the Citadel, Luna had to look away from the strangers who sought out her hand; close her ears to those who screamed for help as they were dragged out from homes and cars and into their slaughter. Those infernal machines were programmed to detect fast movement. Hence the Oracle was forced to walk, barely protected behind her magic shield, willingly deaf and blind, as to not go insane from the sight of Insomnia’s panicked citizens, who ran and ran only to be harvested amongst a downpour of fire and lead. Imperial ships loomed above the city, seemingly endless in their number, polluting a sky already darkened by Insomnia’s magical wall. Luna had looked upwards, Bahamut’s trident growing heavier with every breath she took of the smoke-ridden air. Her attendant was not there to remind her that eyes should be kept on the road. Gentiana had bowed her head at the gates and had remained there, for the gods were not allowed inside the city while the Lucii watched. 

“So it was ordained when the Wall was erected in the newly cut wounds of our Star. A precaution against more divine betrayal.”

The Citadel’s long corridors and echoing floors soon drowned out Luna’s mind, alongside the distant cacophony of life being cleaved out of existence. Her shield faded, taking away with it the murmur of magic. Luna was left feeling numb, and thankful for it when near the throne room she opened another door to find the ceremonial chamber lined with corpses. Former Glaives, he realised, with the regiment’s kukri blades shamefully stuck into each other’s chests, each other’s throats. Betrayal poured out of their empty eyes, no matter which side they used to be on. 

“The Oracle’s resolve shall be the chain which pulls her forward, until the time has come to cut her free. The future of all things depends on her ability to regulate her heart.”

Luna’s guts tightened nonetheless when in the dim light she recognised the face of Nyx Ulric. She stopped before his mangled remains, her brows a tattered line on her forehead. A hero, lost. Slowly, she looked around the piles of bloodied black wool, searching for the shimmer of white lace, silver silk. She didn't find it and breathed out in relief. This was always going to be a pyrrhic victory, but she was determined to hold on to fate’s smaller mercies. 

The throne room was nothing like what she remembered when she first walked into it half-hidden in her mother’s shadow. The lamps were feeble with the lack of electricity in the building, the sun outside long set. The marble steps to the throne emerged in front of her, eerily big, white as bone in the dark, framed by carved gold and the members of the council who had stayed back to repel the invasion. The King’s Shield was grotesquely mounted on the wall, made to look over the throne even in death; an irony befitting of the scene’s orchestrator. Below him, Regis Lucis Caelum was sat limp like a puppet in the overpriced chair, leaning on his side with half lidded, glasslike eyes that looked ahead but saw nothing. He looked pitiful, lifeless as the corpses that surrounded him. Luna would have thought him gone if the Wall did not still stand above the capital. 

She found her legs hastening their pace despite her best judgement, her chest swelling with hope and a cry that she had been holding back for twelve long years.

“Your Majesty…!”

“Shhh, not so loud now. Have some pity and let the old man sleep. He’s had a dreadfully long day.”

Luna felt her heels catch on the carpet, bleached leather insole scraping the skin off her feet as they came into a sudden, painful stop. The Oracle’s trident stood tall and motionless, her weapon arm stiffened with all the horrors she had to witness on her way. A sickly light bulb flickered upon red hair and amused green eyes. Then like an ace in a card trick, a man appeared; a shadow by the throne, one she had thought inconspicuous, revealed itself to be alive.

“You look concerned, dearest. The King is breathing, I assure you. Though for how long, I cannot guarantee. There is only so much an ancient healer can do once the ghosts of the Lucii begin to call from the other side.”

Irreverently, he pushed Regis’s hand off the wide armrest so he could plop down on it instead, hat removed to fan his face while he looked at her from above. Ardyn Izunia was acting as if he owned everything in his surroundings. Which truly, at one point, he had.

“Eight years without so much as a word, and this cold stare is all you give me? No kisses? Not even a heated running embrace? And here I waited thinking we had made some rather special memories upon our last encounter,” he paused in a fake display of thought. “Or was it our first encounter? Perhaps one and the same. A certain sweet girl was a tad too eager to be ravished.”

Luna’s attention flickered towards the face of the sleeping King, and the Accursed’s gaze followed. 

“Oh, you needn’t worry, he's not listening. Where his withered brains are at the moment, I doubt he would comprehend the immediate environment even if his own son was sucking off a group of Bussemands right under Clarus Amicitia’s feet.” 

“You shall keep the dead out of your obscenities.”

“Don't make that face at me.” Ardyn’s voice was brimming with delight at the Oracle’s first hint of annoyance. “Your cold-tittied prostitute of an attendant should have already taught you as much. The right to virginal indignation is lost once a woman threatens to immolate herself for a bit of fingering.”

Rather than an answer, Luna pictured grabbing him by that blaze of red hair and pulling the moth-eaten clothes off him; impaling him on the floor with every discarded sword in the room, his legs spread so that she could show him exactly what Gentiana had taught her about fingering. 

“Alas, however,” Ardyn continued, “for all the drama and pathos of our lovemaking, it appears I failed to capture your heart. Pains me to admit, but we both know it is the other old man you are here for.” A theatrical hand, still holding onto his hat, motioned towards Regis. “No need to deny it, dear, I know you love him greatly. Almost like a father of your own, which I suppose gives your engagement to prince Noctis a lovely incestuous flair.

“No, no. Make no mistake, I'm not judging,” he hastened to add before Luna could open her mouth. “When you have never known paternal love, a brief touch of palms and some fleeting concern are enough to set the wheel turning. Frankly, I'm surprised his Majesty missed the chance to marry your mother. Or bed her at least, give some legitimacy to her noble bastard children. Did Lady Sylva ever mention your father’s name? Ravus’s father? Who knows, with her habit of taking cocks two and three at a time, perhaps she didn't remember herself.”

Luna had no desire to entertain him. Her mind was drawn to the walls of the Citadel which had begun to tremble. Ardyn gestured to the murals above.

“Can you hear it approaching? Chief Besithia’s magnum opus. You have never seen anything of its magnitude before, I can promise. A masterpiece of destructive force. Nine ships it takes to ferry from Gralea. Swallowed a good portion of our staff during the field tests.”

“The Diamond Weapon.”

“Ah, well done! Then again, it’s rather obvious by now that someone has been studying her brother’s top secret reports. Did Ravus know you were looking through his correspondence with the Imperial military? Did he keep your treachery in thought when he offered to lead the siege on Insomnia? No, couldn’t be. Family is that boy’s weakness. Knowing him, he would have stayed in denial, pretending his desk was left unlocked by mere oversight.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way back home, nursing a number of bad decisions. Royal pride won’t let him accept it, but he’s not an actor who belongs on this stage. Though, speaking of.” As if on cue, Ardyn looked over her shoulder and raised an open hand. “Our last guest of the evening, right on time.”

Luna didn’t need to look. The shiver in her spine was enough to recognise the unholy presence of magitek armour. A man’s figure stood at the door, creating a monstrous outline in the scarce light, so tall and angular it looked uncanny, inhuman. His shadow stretched across the floor to chase at her shoes and Luna unconsciously shifted away from it. She had known his shape well, from when she first had to watch him descend from the sky; cut through a sea of flames; murder her mother. 

“General Glauca, commendable service as always.” 

The Imperial High Commander entered the macabre scene, steadfast and undisturbed. If he had heard any of the Chancellor’s clownish babbling, he didn’t bother responding to it. His entire presence radiated disdain for things small and trivial. Under this guise, he functioned with an efficacy that rivalled the Empire’s machines, and like them, he was there to fulfill an objective, then bow away towards the next one. 

His moving tomb of an armour was a stark antithesis to the fleshy human squirming in his grip. Behind him, Glauca dragged the barefoot shape of a woman, tied in what looked like curtain ropes. She was dressed in the fine silver silks and white lace of Tenebraen nobility. On her neck, the black seal of witches tightened like a snake, preventing her from casting spells. Luna’s heart fluttered but she knew not to show it. Dropped like an inconsequential object, the strange woman sat up on her thighs, spitting blood. She looked up to the Oracle, regretful, apologetic, and between those distressed features Luna recognised her own face; the same blonde hair, falling from its braided ponytail; the same blue eyes, inflamed by a rage that had no outlet. 

A fake Oracle. A decoy. 

“Thank you, thank you. You may leave this one with us.” Ardyn began to descend the steps with an air of unbearable nonchalance. “Pardon the mess, there was no time to clean up after the Lucian government decided to sacrifice itself for King or country or some other lofty nonsense. Nevertheless, I’ll be taking care of matters here. Now, could you be a darling and escort the Emperor out of the capital? His stomach has been upset since last night, I believe. The lavish spectacle of civilians being butchered by our splendid technology might have been a tad overwhelming.” With a sideways tilt of his head, Ardyn turned to Luna. “Rather sensitive to violence for a conqueror, that man.”

Luna paid him no attention. She watched as her doppelganger struggled to catch a breath, seemingly defeated. Then, in the middle of Ardyn’s farcical monologue, the rope came loose. By the time Glauca had raised his heavy sword, the woman’s hidden knife had been thrown across the room, taking her with it in grey cloud of ashes, aiming straight for the Niflheim Chancellor’s throat.

“Crowe, don’t!”

The real Oracle could only scream, before the whole room crackled with daemonic essence. Luna’s ears ached with the sick sound of snapping bones. With her magical disguise broken, the last of the Glaives was sent tumbling towards the throne, landing at her King’s feet in a heap of limbs and dark hair. She tried to stand immediately, coughing, crawling onto her elbow with an apology half-formed on her lips, but Luna had already ran past Ardyn to kneel at her side.

“At ease, general.” Dusting his hat from where it had fallen, Ardyn put it back on his head and turned to Glauca who continued to stand en guarde at the door, waiting for orders. “As mentioned, I will be taking care of matters here. See the Emperor safe back to Gralea. Make sure he takes his sleeping medicine. Have him seated near the Crystal so he can take comfort in the greater good due to come out of our atrocities.”

With a reluctant sheathing of his sword, the High Imperial Commander nodded his head and departed, clearly displeased but unable to disobey. Ardyn waved, “Farewell! Pleasant journeys! Glory to the Empire and all that.”

Behind him, Luna had began to tear at Crowe’s useless royal dress, awfully constricting now that the woman’s body had returned to its natural state. Where the Oracle was pale and hollowed out by worry, the Glaive was woven from thick muscle and scars. Crowe’s breasts spilled out heavy from her opened top while Luna searched for broken ribs. Her tan skin was adorned with a soft layer of hair, unacquainted as it was with blades that were not made for killing. A word akin to Luna’s formal title was all she managed to mutter before her voice began to fade. 

“Hush, do not waste your breath.”

The Oracle kissed the Glaive’s forehead, praying the whole time, her free hand pulling a black cloak from the nearby dead to cover up Kingsglaive’s lone survivor. Crowe would live. The witches’ seal was unlocked, her wounds were mended. By the grace of the Six, she had been spared. 

“How very merciful, your gods.”

“Enough! Do not come near her.”

Bahamut’s trident glowed and Ardyn stopped, mid-movement. The pain torturing his immortal flesh in the Oracle’s presence was considerably weaker after the events of eight years past. Not eliminated though, and for a moment, the Dragon’s grace made every fibre of his being feel like it was made of barbed wire. He grinned.

“Altius, was it not? Thought there was something odd when the woman who blackmailed me into feeling her up would refuse to make eye contact at the envoy’s welcoming party. Then again,” he turned to Luna, “reuniting with the authentic you proved to be just as unloving an experience.”

He continued to walk towards the two women, conscious of the naked rage seeping through the Oracle’s typically calm exterior. “Magnificent job with the disguise, I must say. Had me fooled until I noticed the facial structure was a bit off.” He mockingly addressed a half-conscious Crowe. “Clearly not a beginner in the transformation arts. Did photos make for poor reference material? Judging by the timeline of events, I don’t imagine you would have had a chance to meet your royal pen friend in the flesh until now.”

Crowe opened her eyes. Even cradled in Luna’s arms and breathing heavily, the intent to murder was evident in the twitch of her fingers. Summoning the last of her strength, she spat at his face. 

“Such spirit, those Galahdians, such fierceness!” Ardyn pulled out a handkerchief from his sleeve, undisturbed. “If only you could have been there, Reverence, to watch as she electrocuted one of our colossal daemons to death. Ultros was cooked inside the airship’s storage compartment like marinated octopus in a tin can. Sincerely, I mean no sarcasm at all. Praise be where praise is due. You chose your accomplices wisely. Her comrades arrived, all geared up to rescue the imposter Oracle, only to find her cell door broken from the inside and most of the magitek crew fried; circuits smoking, limbs welded against the steel walls from the heat. She stirred quite the commotion, this one. How did you uncover our plot to assassinate her?”

“I did not.” Luna had to resist a simper.

“Ah, I see! Merely prevented it on the spot. The tactical advantages of using Puppy Express for communication. No wonder the assassin was found with half his face chewed off. Foolish me thought the wild animals of Leide had taken the opportunity for a feast post-event, but no.” 

“You appear pleased.”

“Part of me is, she would have been such a waste. You’ve read our report papers. ‘A rare display of magical aptitude,’ I believe it was worded, ‘the sort of budding talent our nation is obliged to monitor.’ Even the esteemed science department was impressed. Not everyday we see the enemy summon hurricanes on borrowed magic, much more the kind of fire and brimstone that can swallow an entire battlefield.” 

“You were the one to sow treason amongst the Glaives.”

“Of course, and they responded wonderfully despite your here witch’s warnings. Brother turning on brother. A grand implosion of misplaced loyalties unfolding while the world ends. Performance art, truly.”

“The city gates were left undefended with the Glaives dead and the main forces of our army at the border,” Luna said in pained acquiescence. “This is how the magitek infantry got in.”

“Walls are wonderful things, are they not? Great for keeping things out as they are for keeping things in. Our bigger daemons cannot break through, neither can heavy machinery. Foot soldiers, though? Why, they can simply stroll through the main entrance just as you did. Once the front line has collapsed, who is there to stop them from marching? Urban Lucians have never known combat. All that is left is hiding inside the infrastructure like rats, while the King sleeps; unable to lower the Wall and let them escape en masse, unable to use the Ring and quell the invasion. Clearing out the vermin is our only task now. And believe me, the machines have strict orders to preserve the city itself. The Emperor is a fan of Insomnian architecture.”

Luna hadn’t realised she was crying until she set the Glaive to rest and stood up to look at Regis. The King seemed to be dreaming. Of what, she didn’t know.

“My engagement to Noctis, then, was nothing but a ruse to send the Crownsguard away too.”

“You overestimate the prince, yet I suppose that is to be expected. I went to check on him in Gauldin Quay. Wonderful young man, if not a bit clueless. As handsome as his father had once been, though I wouldn't expect him to age well. Tragic that the Caelums tend to look so past their expiry date when the years have barely had a chance to ripen them. Then again, it was your gods’ many blessings that ate his poor father to the bone. And the father before him. And the father before that. By the time magic sleep overtook him, good Regis had no will left to resist. Pretty certain he thought I was trying to close his eyes forever. And a man welcomes death when life has become such a burden. Trust me, I would know.

“Where was I, however? Ah yes, Gauldin Quay. Lovely seafood, you should try it next time you decide to travel there incognito. The half-senile fisherman who acted as my unwitting informant said you were in a tremendous hurry and turned down his offer for a dish of crab before you went on your pilgrimage. He remembered you well, despite the sea breeze rolling around in his empty head. Not very common for a woman with a foreign accent to show up, urgently asking to hire a boat to Angelgard outside pilgrimage season. She came with news about an upcoming Imperial embargo on sea travel too. Terribly well informed to go unnoticed. Suspiciously generous with the amounts she was willing to pay for someone dressed so plain. Shame you missed the crab, though. And the prince. He and his merry men arrived only a few hours after you were done with your little detour.”

Luna listened without interrupting, without sparing Ardyn a single glance. Her hand sat atop the King’s in a futile attempt to keep it warm. “If you already deduced everything, why this interrogation?”

“Who knows? Perhaps the Chancellor enjoys the sound of his own voice, as the Niflheim courts like to say. Or perhaps I wish to congratulate you on conceiving and executing a masterful plan while locked away as a political prisoner. You did, after all, evade the Empire’s searing gaze, even if you decided to foil your own escape at the very end.”

“Empathy is not a weakness.”

“There it is, the spiritual leader’s concern for the peasantry. You got what you wanted from your little secret journey. You could have ran back to the safety of Tenebrae and let Insomnia burn. Grand catastrophes make for a grand spectacle. The capital’s fall would have bought you a good amount of time, but instead you decided to walk alone into the Behemoth’s mouth.” 

“Insomnia will not fall!” Luna rose abruptly, the trident’s tail end hitting the floor with enough force to chip the marble. Its thunderous sound made the windows tremble; it echoed across the roof’s ornate arches and beams, all the way to a ceiling so impossibly tall it remained unseen on the brightest of days.

“Bold words from an isolated saviour,” Ardyn said and menace began to creep into his words, “spoken while the city she’s come to save writhes like a larvae, consuming itself within its protective shell. The clock is ticking while we talk, Reverence. Even without our heaviest weapons, the Imperial army is pretty efficient in its singular mind. Ten million citizens, and I believe we got about an eighth of them by now. Give it another few hours without interference and the carcass of Insomnia will be picked clean.”

Ardyn’s face grew more and more distorted the closer he got to her. The few remaining lamps began to falter as he walked up the staircase, and Luna saw his teeth were stained in black once he got under the light. He stood a couple of steps beneath her, the two of them finally equal in height.

“You can have a King without a Kingdom or a Kingdom without a King, Lunafreya. The choice is yours.”

Eons passed, trapped in the single minute she took to decide. Luna turned around, the woolen cape falling off her shoulders to free her trident arm. She moved slow, as if floating in water and for the most part she was truly drowning under the pressure felt on her chest. She wasn’t crying anymore. In another life, she would have returned to Insomnia a girl. Her mother would have accepted the King’s proposal. The sylleblossoms would decorate altars, not graves. Noctis would have been her brother, like he was meant to be. His father would have been her own. 

In this life, a woman grown, Luna gestured at Crowe to stand down as the Glaive stared in confusion and fear. The Accursed’s gamble had been on mercy and the Oracle lost. Now the future of all things depended on her ability to regulate her heart.

During his last moments, Regis looked up, his red-rimmed eyes finding hers in a fleeting lucidity, his fingers scraping the velvet as if seeking the lost warmth of her hand. Luna knew that if he could speak, he would forgive her.

“Rest, your Majesty.”

The trident pierced into him, still immaculately sharp after thousands of years, and his sleep became eternal.

No one spoke. The silence that followed was only broken by the clicking of animal nails on the stone floor. Pryna and Umbra appeared at the base of the stairs, after watching the Oracle unseen that whole time. They beckoned, a pair of psychopomps materialising out of grief itself. 

“Come, child,” Ardyn said tossing a small bottle to Crowe. A potion, infused with the remnants of his own healing magic, without doubt. “Take the King away to receive his respects. Let the prince know about his abrupt promotion. You, out of everyone, would know how to deal with the agonies of a family lost.”

Luna couldn’t say anything, though she wanted to. The last of the Glaives picked up the King’s remains over her back and the animals followed, every step of the humble entourage a mourning bell as they made their way into the dark night. Luna was left looking at the empty chair, the bloodstained trident being her singular support. A sob threatened to break from somewhere but did not, instead settling in her throat, constricting her breath. Her nails were broken from clutching on the steel. 

“There is no end to your callousness, is there?”

“Your gods make a fine inspiration.” For once, his tone was free of mockery and beneath it, Luna thought she could hear a resonance of the honourable man he had once been.

“You warned me I would regret this,” she said and swallowed on bitter saliva with something akin to a laugh. 

“The ship to remorse has sailed, your Reverence. You could have stayed your foolish ambitions, waited for death like you were supposed to, while the men of the house resolved problems the way they always have.” 

Outside, Insomnia’s magical barrier was collapsing in trickles of light that faded before they touched the ground. The roar of daemons approached fast. Above the freed sky, the Empire’s ships were making preparations for landing. The din below the Citadel was growing louder.

“I could have,” she said, “but I will not.”

The battle was not over. The populace could run, but they would not make it far without the immediate threat being neutralised. She looked up, at the body of the King’s Shield, at the historical murals still dedicated to the nameless Goddess of Death.

“You were given what you asked for, girl. The stage is yours now.”

Above a thick blackened cloud, the heavens rumbled with thunder. Without any more faltering, Luna brought herself to the throne as a howling wind began to shake the walls. The lamps flickered and died, blowing up one by one, plunging the room into darkness. She sat down, slow, heavy, with the trident at her side and her eyes closed. The atmosphere jittered with static electricity.

“Show me what you learned in Angelgard.”

Luna opened her eyes -a bright magenta. At once, the towering windows of the Citadel shattered inwards, glass shards left hovering in the air. Ardyn took off his hat, laughing, as rain entered the throne room alongside clawed fingers the size of which mortals were not made to comprehend. The roof was torn in a single terrifying motion, exposing them to the gaze of divinity incarnate. Ramuh was standing above Insomnia, Ixion staff on the same side Luna held her trident. She raised her head, in request, and the Fulgurian nodded.

Judgement was delivered swiftly upon the invaders. No machinery could withstand the onslaught of thunder. With their navigational systems interrupted, the Empire’s ships began to fall, colliding on the ground and against each other, while the few remaining ones got crashed by the summoned god’s own monstrous hand. 

Over the buildings, electric cables collapsed from overcharge. The city lights, infamous for polluting the night to the ends of the continent, began to shut down. Ardyn watched in gleeful fascination the Diamond Weapon being impaled through its core and into the ground, torn apart limb from limb.

“Oh Verstael, you should have been here to see what thirty years of human effort amount to before the rage of those above.” 

He took off his flowery scarf and let it fly away. His hat was already lost in the winds, his coat soon to follow. Under the rain, his linen shirt did nothing to conceal the body beneath once he had decided to unbutton his waistcoat. By the time he came to kneel between Luna’s legs, she looked equally naked in her drenched cotton dress. 

“Come to me, First King, the Six need to witness your anointment.” 

Luna spoke with anger, and yet excitement gripped her insides as soon as his breath grazed her knee. She grabbed a fistful of red hair and pushed his face straight into her clothed cunt. She held him there until his shallow, playful kisses began to grow in plentiness and thirst. Even without seeing him, Luna could tell he was smiling. His tongue found its way between layers of fabric, and she heard the seams of her skirt strain, felt her panties being pulled aside almost to ripping point while Ardyn pushed her legs apart and she spread them even further. His mouth was warm, more than she remembered. The scruff he had once deemed inappropriate to touch her skin was scratching the tender inside of her thighs. His lips were seeking out hers with the Infernian’s own ferocity. 

Shivering, Luna leaned on the trident, steel rubbing against her cheek. Its thickness felt wonderfully phallic in her hand, so much that she had to suppress an urge to lick it. Her mouth felt dry, empty; her fingers painfully unoccupied without more flesh to hold onto. She gripped tighter on Ardyn’s hair, frustrated, and he bit her. It was when she heard herself moan at the pain, when her thumb unconsciously rose to rub at a hard nipple, that Luna came to accept she was her mother’s daughter. Shiva’s insatiable spirit ran in all women, but the Oracle’s line revered Her more than any other. 

When Luna looked up, breathless, lightning continued to split the sky, illuminating the features of the Fulgurian who stood in observance. Ardyn made sure to push her dress up once she got close to climaxing, throw her sticky wet skirt above her belly button and pull her underwear down, so she too could see the depraved beauty of her body in orgasm. Luna came and came, painting Ardyn’s face with her pleasure while he asked for more. Ichor ran freely from the edges of his lips, dripping like oil between her legs, dirtying her clothes. Only when she was spent did he stand up and lick his fingers, satisfied that no rain would ever be able to wash her clean. 

Luna tried to speak when a strange heat pooled inside her skull. She bent forward, holding her forehead, her vision swimming in and out of focus. At the edge of her sight she made out the figure of the thunder god, disintegrating with the clouds, the storm clearing just enough to let a few stars shine on the quiet land below. The people were saved, she thought and at the same time realised her nose was bleeding. Insomnia had not fallen. She reached to wipe her face and found the blood black as the night. 

“Long live the Queen,” she heard the Accursed say before her light faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you saw this coming. I didn't and I'm writing it. 
> 
> And apologies for keeping Crowe untagged, I was trying to keep her appearance a surprise.
> 
> Also updates will be slower from now on, as I've caught up with my writing backlog, so make sure to bookmark or subscribe if you are prone to forgetting what you've read like I am. 
> 
> Oh and comments make me work faster, so air your thoughts even if it's just to say you hate me for making cooked octopus jokes in the middle of a tragedy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse went on a long holiday, but now she's back.

The waves crashed around her shoes. Salt water mixed with a layer of sand, soaking the hem of a dress that was entirely unsuitable for the occasion. Luna bent over to pull the skirt over her calves, wet silk catching on the prickly blonde hairs that had escaped her handmaiden’s razor. She was not allowed to choose her own clothing; not while her life remained imperial property. Under Niflheim rule, figures of authority and inspiration could only be clad in white, evoking the pretend purity of the snowfields. Strange to think that Gralea was an arid steppe only one generation before, but human memory was quick to erase inconvenient truths. The environmental disaster that followed Shiva’s death had been overshadowed by a story of triumph against the might of the gods. Survivors celebrated while their crops died in the frost and famine spread from beneath the goddess’s cadaver. 

Luna shivered. Her heels got tangled in a piece of seaweed and a familiar pair of arms appeared to her aid. Gentiana was carrying the Draconian’s trident; cold fingers wrapped around steel on one side, Luna’s bicep on the other. Neither seemed to weigh her down. With an ever-patient smile, she waited while the other woman took off her soggy pumps to continue barefoot. An Oracle was not allowed to choose her shoes either, and the only ones she had been given to wear were the kind that would not let her run. 

Umbra’s tail, held high in the air, wagged in the mists ahead while leading the way onto the desolate island of Angelgard. He padded down the rocky trail, undisturbed by the odd rain that Luna knew was falling nowhere else. Back in Gauldin Quay, the sun was shining over the coastline. It was only there that a storm raged in isolation, marking the presence of the Fulgurian in the depths below. Umbra barked, having found shelter under a cliffside, and shook the water from his coat. The wind was howling, but none of this had any bearing on a divine messenger who cut through time and space. Having known all that has ever happened and all that would ever be, he was used to the company of fearsomeness and aberration. 

The clouds above were dark enough to blot out the sun, making day seem like night on this small piece of jagged rock. The god was awake and had taken note of their arrival. All Luna could do was continue to walk on sore and bleeding feet. Only her eyes betrayed the anxiety pulsing inside her, when they unconsciously sought the horizon left behind. 

“The Oracle casts her gaze upon turbulent waters and wonders if the waves can carry her thoughts to the shore, where her beloved awaits, childlike in his ignorance.” 

Gentiana’s tone bore no accusation, only a pained kind of understanding, but for some reason Luna felt shame twist in her gut like a hot knife. This was not the time to be looking back. 

“I miss Noctis,” she said, and in that moment realised she was dreaming. Those events had already taken place in a less than distant past. She had answered differently then and kept her feelings concealed behind the stern dignity of determination. But this was a dream, and what has come to pass could not be amended. It was safe to be honest. “I wish I could embrace him and hold him tight against my chest, the way I always wanted but wasn’t allowed to, even as a child.” 

The old boat they had arrived on bobbed along the waves, tied to a sea-eaten pole of wood that barely held under the force of the storm. Luna could see it from where she was. The vessel called to her, tugging at temptations her conscious self had already fought and defeated. In real life she had refused to consider regret. Fate was sculpted by mortal hands, not divine, and hers had been carved by the strength of her will alone. In a dream though, fate had no bearing. She could ride the boat back into the sunlight and bask in the warmth of the fake sky; wait out her slumber in the solace of fantasies where Noctis could kiss her cheek in public and no one had to suffer. She could meet his friends, taste happiness. She could laugh.

Umbra followed her gaze, quiet in his lack of judgement. He was a guide, not an arbiter; he was there to make a safe path through the mists of memory and keep mortals from falling into insanity. He watched the Oracle wrestle with her desires from a few feet away, rain clinging to his whiskers, tongue darting out to lick the water dripping from his snout. What has already happened could not be changed. One could only pretend. Thus, Umbra waited, ready to take Luna’s word and lead her away from her destiny had she a wish to do so. 

Gentiana did not speak; she merely brought her outer sleeve to Luna’s eyes and the Oracle, suddenly a girl like any other, felt pain hitch on her breath. 

“My Lady weeps for the life she chose to abandon.” 

“She does,” said Luna, “yet she would choose the same, no matter how many times the world was to start over.” 

She knew what was waiting ahead. She remembered being on the island while awake, descending into the depths of the darkness below through a narrow cave. Her foot had slipped more than once on the smooth stone steps, their obsidian surface polished from the passage of innumerable prisoners who had once made the same pilgrimage. The remains of old shrines had emerged along her way: old clothes and offerings; dolls, food and jewellery; human bones. All of them were remnants of a former existence that was to be cast aside during this journey to the underworld. These people had come to be judged by the god of the storms. Sinful as mankind tended to be, most of them never made it back. 

Luna walked to the split mouth of the cave with fear gripping her throat. The rain pelted them from above, sparse but freezing. Without being called, Umbra came to her and rubbed his wet nose on her palm. Luna smiled. She extended her hand and the trident found its way between her fingers. The man who had rented them the boat was blissfully naive, but even he, in a moment of lucidity, had warned them to pray from afar and not set foot on the island. The rocks still echo the pleas of the penitent and the unworthy, he had told them, his aged voice struggling over blackened teeth. Angelgard is a prison, not a temple. 

“If I don’t return,” Luna began to say, knowing it was redundant. Gentiana knew it too. Instead of answering, she gently gestured for the Oracle to silence her worries. Luna could only watch while the goddess leaned down to place a kiss on her bottom lip. It was slower in her dream, warmer, parting her mouth with a simmering heat that Luna did not want to be separated from. Much like in reality, Gentiana’s lipstick never smudged. 

“Go forth with fortune’s blessing.” 

The island shook in awe and terror, splitting the mouth of the cave wider. A tree waited for her below, infused with blazing light. She knew; she had prayed to it not three days before. The Fulgurian had conceded before the sheer force of her will and bearing his mark, she had marched into Insomnia alone. The past had already been written. 

Armed with that knowledge, Luna took a step back and turned around, letting the dark depths swallow her. 

She was still dreaming when she emerged on the other side, blinded by a dawn that shone off the walls of the Lucian capital. A new day had risen above Insomnia to find it standing tall. She walked out of the shadows, emerging on the side of the empty throne. Her feet were no longer bare. Clad in black boots, they thudded heavy on the marble floor. They moved slow, awkward. They carried themselves across the room with the blind intuition of someone who had never done so before. A window twice her height spread along the wall, smashed inwards by inhuman means. Luna approached, mesmerised by the sight of destruction againsts Insomnia’s skyline. Outside, the gothic architecture reached up to the heavens; a sea of towers, tangled with wires, piercing the sky so far it was almost profane. Sacrilege runs in the veins of humankind, she thought, and only then did she notice the hole violently torn into the opposite wall. It gaped open, large enough to fit a Behemoth. A breeze flew through the missing roof, carrying a smell of burning flesh up from the war-ravaged streets. Luna’s breath grew heavy. Blood rose to her eardrums in a directionless ringing that beaded her temples with cold sweat. She fumbled, suddenly unstable on her legs, then a voice from behind brought her back into consciousness. 

“The proceedings have already begun.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” she heard herself say with a voice that sounded nothing like hers. She had only caught a glimpse of the man who spoke to her before he disappeared tactfully into the adjacent room. He had addressed her from the door, weary of interrupting his melancholic acquaintance’s thoughts. 

Luna’s palms, empty of the trident’s weight, pushed her away from the window. They ached, ridden with callouses she knew were suited to the hilt of a different weapon. Stepping over the remains of a glass panel, she looked down to her reflection and met Prompto Argentum’s eyes. She could tell who he was, even though she had never seen him beyond the age of fifteen. The photos Noctis put in her notebook never quite captured how pale his friend’s lashes truly were or how red the bridge of his nose. Up close, his lips were chewed raw from unspoken anxiety. Freckles dotted his skin wherever the sunlight touched. 

This was a dream, but it did not belong to her anymore. She was there as a guest, occupying someone else’s memories. Pryna, rather than Umbra, ran to her side and she felt the boy’s lips stretch into a forced smile. “Alright,” he muttered with a preparatory sigh. Luna wasn’t sure who he was smiling for, and from the echoes of his mind, she could tell he didn’t know either. Pryna, unseen by anyone who wasn’t the Oracle, ran to the door and the boy followed, unconsciously resisting every step. 

Inside the courtroom the Lucian council sat in a quiet circle. The atmosphere between the men was stale and oppressive; their discourse at a standstill under the tension escalating above. No one wanted to be there. No one showed any life apart from the young man who suddenly stood up, his anger erupting from its deep place of dormancy.

“My father was murdered and you did nothing!”

Prompto shriveled into his seat. As luck had it, it was right next to the source of yelling. Prompto would have covered his ears was he allowed to. Being an adult, he settled for looking at his hands, unable to face the scene. Luna knew what she was going to see was he to lift his gaze. Noctis had never been one to tame his emotions, not even when the situation demanded it. His voice, barely out of adolescence, was breaking under the strain of grief. Luna could almost hear his heartstrings tighten, as tender and fragile as when she first met him. Underneath his maturing skin, he was the same boy she had greeted in Tenebrae. All that changed was his ability to hide that boyhood; to mask his loneliness behind nonchalance, and disguise pain inside anger. 

“Your Highness. I know this is a distressing time, but you must remain calm,” someone said, attempting an appeal to reason. Noctis glared.

“Calm? Is it calmness you want? How about I calmly order an execution to go with my coronation ceremony? Might as well pay respects to my ancestors while we are at it.”

Noctis’s bones were still setting, the baby fat still clinging to his face. In the last newspaper picture she saw, Luna had found herself admiring the fullness of his lips. Nature was brutal, however, and continued to usher him towards adulthood with no concern for his readiness. For all Luna knew, his thoughts were still occupied with the ball games he never got to play with his father, the fishing trips he never convinced Regis to attend, the picture books he was never read to before sleep. Noctis held onto the past by the threads of his depression while clocks continued to tick, unrelenting.

“Wasn’t it the Founder King who had his sorcerer of a brother hanged on the day he took the throne? We could burn a witch and give the people something to roast marshmallows on, now that the city is short on electricity and the TV stations are off.”

He spoke and moved in agitation, shouting at his former tutor as if no longer recognising friend from foe. His typical lethargic silence was lost to a flood of regrettable words that continued to pour out of his mouth before he could stop them. Even without seeing, Luna could picture his furious gaze; dark blue eyes, rimmed with red like the autumnal sky. His voice was watery with a rain of tears he was barely holding back.

A tremble went through the entire room when his fist hit the table. His hand would bruise later, as a reminder that his bones are far heavier than they had been only a few short years before. 

“Sit down.”

Luna recognised the man called Gladiolus from the restrained strength that rippled beneath his surface. He spoke between tight jaws as quietly as he could muster, but his lack of volume was in reverse proportion to the rage that threatened to break out of him at a moment’s notice. His height blocked the light where he stood, casting a shadow over Prompto’s stinging eyelids. He put a hand on the young King’s shoulder and was immediately pushed away. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“Sit the hell down,” Gladiolus repeated, even quieter, stressing every word in a manner wholly reminiscent of his father. The new Shield was less tempered than the old one, though. Clarus had learned restraint with age, but Gladio was young and prone to giving into that infamous Amicitia temper his bloodline was known for. Noctis bit back a curse at him. The two boys locked gazes like stags lock their horns, until order was finally restored by a subtle cough from their side. 

“Noct,” the King’s tutor said simply, his tone wrapped in so many layers of politeness and implication that one had to know him to understand this was a demand, not a request. Luna had always thought Ignis Scientia a tired man. He didn't smile often. Definitely not in the presence of those he worked with, and most of what he did around people was work. Luna knew him because everyone who had dealings with the royal family did. Not that he socialised outside business hours. Ignis had many acquaintances but only one friend, who just like him was struggling to exist outside duty. He gave Gladio a knowing look, and the next time their liege was pushed down to sit, Noctis obliged.

“Apologies for the interruption, Ms. Altius. Let us continue with your testimony. You mentioned that prior to the events of the imperial invasion, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, the Oracle, kept a confidential correspondence with you?”

“She did.”

Crowe was the only one without a seat. The court assembled around her was a far cry from the proud council of nobles and knights that had once sat beside King Regis. The true Lucian government lay slaughtered in its collective grave. Those sitting on the bloodstained furniture were but distant relatives and lesser members of the nobility; survivors who merely happened to be outside Insomnia during the invasion; inexperienced offspring, brought to take the place of their dead family before they had a chance to mourn. They all appeared broken to some extent, looking at the trial ahead in exhaustion while doing their best to emulate those who had come before them. Most were hastily dressed in ordinary clothes, as if they had been summoned to court that same morning. They regarded the witch in their midst with hollow disdain, unsure what to believe and whom to trust after the calamity that had befallen them all. Insomnia had survived by divine providence, yet victory had cost more than anyone was prepared to pay. Luna held no doubts that they all knew someone amongst the victims. The events that transpired on the night of the Fulgurian’s descent had taken a toll on every Lucian life.

“How long have you been writing to each other?” Ignis continued his examination, purposefully ignoring the stress that ate at his colleagues.

“Eight weeks, Your Honour.”

The man straightened his glasses like he always did when he needed a moment to choose his words. “No need for such titles. I’m not a judge, merely overtaking the prosecutor’s role. We are, unfortunately, short on staff, thus running a rather threadbare operation.”

“Understood.”

“Now if we can continue, I presume this correspondence of yours was carried out in a secretive manner.”

“It was.”

“What was included exactly?”

“Letters, photographs, copies of military files.”

“Taken from the imperial commander, Ravus Nox Fleuret, without his knowledge or permission.”

“Yes.” 

Crowe did not look like a prisoner. A brand new scar was healing near her jaw. Luna knew of several wounds and broken ribs under her uniform, but she showed no weakness. Her Glaive’s jacket was unwashed, worn in the field of duty only a few days before. Felt like years had passed since its perception had changed from a symbol of honour and devotion to a mark of treachery and betrayal. It was a bold move for Crowe to wear it, but knowing the woman as she did, Luna was not surprised. Pride would be the Galahdian people’s strength, and their downfall. Crowe was standing with her back straight, her chin held as high as it always had been, even if her wrists were in chains. 

Not that iron could hold magic back. The black band around her neck was the only object that stood in the way of the witch’s art, and Luna could tell Crowe had chosen to wear it voluntarily. A gesture of goodwill, as a certain someone would put it, or a sign of no fear. Crowe was standing onto the platform of the indicted, but she held strong on the belief that she had done no wrong by her conscience or her vows to her late King. 

“Her Reverence is a political prisoner of Niflheim kept under home arrest. How was the correspondence even carried?”

“A close confidant.”

“I see.” Ignis opened a folder to be passed around the courtroom; photographs of Pelna Khara, his body mauled by animal teeth. “The messenger was the one who allegedly intervened to prevent your assassination?”

“Yes.”

“You are aware, however, that the so-called assassin was assigned on guard duty near the city’s inner circle during the time of his death, a great distance away from where his corpse was discovered. Moreover, his cause of death was indeterminable even after examination, pointing at supernatural means.” 

“Are you accusing me of murder?”

“I’m outlining the facts, which in the context of the Glaives’ recent treason, point to magic-mediated murder as the most obvious answer for Mr. Khara’s death.”

“I told you before, Pelna’s assignment was fake. He was covered by Glauca.”

“The imperial general that you claim infiltrated Lucis under the guise of Titus Drautos, a much-decorated servant of his late Majesty who is reported as missing.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“My beliefs are irrelevant. I will not be the one passing judgement on you. The final verdict lies with His Majesty, the King.”

Noctis stirred in discomfort at the mention of his new title. His throat bobbed ever so slightly, as if he had wanted to say something and changed his mind. His chest moved heavy with the airs of fury and regret. Prompto tried to catch his attention with a pale excuse of a smile, but Noctis’s gaze was already elsewhere. He stared impassively at the distance, towards the pieces of what had once been a statue of his house’s patron deity. The goddess of the underworld lay in ruins across a torn red carpet, her face eerily serene while it continued to watch over the mortals. Noctis felt sick. The image of his own father in rigor mortis flashed in his mind and he had to blink it away before nodding for the cross-examination to go on. He hadn’t slept in two days and hadn’t showered or attempted to eat since he was summoned back to the capital. Nothing would stay in his stomach after he was forced to sign the paperwork that officialised the former King’s passing. 

Noctis knew this day would come. Of course he did. Coronations always accompanied funerals, and he had been groomed for the event far longer than any son deserved to. Until confronting the reality of orphanhood, though, he had no way of knowing just how much of a void his only parent would leave behind. Luna noticed a small tremble on the young King’s hands that Noctis hastened to hide under the table. Ignis saw it too and mercifully chose to overlook it. 

“As per your testimony so far, the Oracle got in touch with you to arrange a decoy. You took her place during the peace proceedings, while she used the opportunity window to travel to Angelgard for reasons which up until the summoning of the Fulgurian, remained unknown. The invasion occurred during the time frame of a kidnapping staged by the Empire, without your prior knowledge.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to the physical evidence of your exchange with Lady Lunafreya? Where are these documents now? These letters?”

“Destroyed. They had to be.”

“To protect you?”

“To protect the Oracle.”

Noctis swallowed. His foot tapped the floor in a slow, nervous beat. Head resting on his palm and elbow on his chair arm, he continued to gnaw over words he didn’t wish to speak. Luna watched him through Prompto’s eyes and felt the boy’s worry swell into heartburn. At his side, Pryna let out a whine of support that only her mistress could hear.

“Ms. Altius, do you understand the vulnerability of your position?” Ignis said, taking off his glasses.

Crowe was silent. Sensing a trick question, she refused to reply, her brows alone furrowing over cautious brown eyes.

“You were in the throne room during…” Ignis paused, looking to find the least upsetting vocabulary for what he was trying to describe. The woman’s gaze darted to his left, where the young King sat in visible distress. She chose the path of mercy and spoke ahead.

“Yes. I was.”

“You observed the entire sequence of events.”

“I did.”

“And yet made no attempt to prevent what transpired.”

The murmur of the court faded into an eerie reticence. The witch in their midst was left exposed on her pedestal, surrounded by the arrows of accusation. For the first time since the beginning of the trial, Crowe’s steadfast resolve faltered. Her breathing was heavy enough to be heard across the room, her head lowered to stare down the beast of doubt that was coiling around her feet. Luna had chosen her allies wisely, however. Crowe was a woman of unwavering faith. 

“It was not my decision to make,” the witch sad finally, chin rising to defiance. 

“Is there any particular reason you chose not to escape? Once the capital was secured, you stayed and accepted arrest.”

“Only traitors run.”

Ignis was taken aback by the lack of remorse on display. To his credit, Luna thought, he hid it well. His job was to weather the storm and that he did, staying admirably calm even when the world fell apart around him.

“I see,” was all he said before looking at his side for a permission to continue.

Gladiolus was resting back on his chair, seemingly unaffected by everything that was going on. Had she not heard so much about the man, Luna would have mistaken his behaviour for apathy. But no, it was only a thin veil of self-preservation. Knowing the likes of Gladio, his thoughts were with his family grave. Now that the head of the household was gone, grief and regret seeped visibly through the cracks of his stonelike persona, much as he tried to conceal them. The last memory he had of his father was that of worn-out servant spending too much time by the King. Clarus’s son had argued with him to eat, while his daughter quietly brought him clean clothes at the Citadel. Ignis’s uncle had been no different. Such was the fate of those born into the Crown’s service. 

The newly appointed Shield crossed his arms and nodded towards Noctis. Their equally new King was pale, looking every bit the lost animal while his brain refused to fully process his surroundings. There was no choice but for his retainers to press on without him. Ignis’s chest swelled with an inaudible sigh.

“Ms. Altius, can you confirm that His late Majesty was indeed killed by the Oracle’s hand?”

“He was.”

“Can you also confirm that your, allegedly destroyed, correspondence with the Oracle contained a lot of compromising information on your person?”

“Pardon?”

“Old files. Current reviews of your performance on the battlefield. Details about your birth and exile, and,” Ignis stopped to scan over a couple printed pages, “the status of your surviving family.”

“My parents disowned me a long time ago.”

“It is not them I would be referring to.”

The gap between Ignis’s last statement and Crowe’s next stretched across the courtroom like a lion’s yawn; seemingly innocuous but lined with deadly teeth. 

“Libertus is not my brother.”

“Not biologically, no,” Ignis stated, in a manner that left much room for debate. 

“Not in any way.”

“Is that so? Because you have gone on record saying otherwise...”

“In a manner of speech, maybe.”

“...as substantiated by multiple testimonies, which point out the sentiment was genuine and mutual.”

Crowe’s speech quickened. The valorous posture she had held up since arrest, gave way to a shred of fear.

“Why would you bring him up? Libertus has been injured for weeks. He had no involvement in anything.”

“His miraculous survival during the invasion was pointed out as an anomaly. Aside from yourself, he is the only other member of the Kingsglaive to have been present in Insomnia and yet somehow make it out of the city alive.”

“He got his leg crushed while on the battlefield, he was in the hospital!”

“A singular soldier kept in a civilian ward, separate from the rest of his comrades, many of whom were injured similarly during the same frontline mission. He survived due to being far away from the point of impact. Everyone else perished under collateral damage.”

Crowe opened her mouth to protest, yet nothing was coming out. In her distressed state, she took too long to find her words and Ignis pushed onwards. 

“Private hospitalisation is a most certain luxury for someone on a Glaive's salary. The medical bill was paid in full, unbeknownst even to Mr. Ostium himself, a week before the signing of the treaty. Paperwork shows a nameless benefactor who has since been traced back to Tenebrae.” 

“You already figured out it was her Ladyship who paid for it. Why does it matter?”

“Anything pertaining to your joint plans with the Oracle matters, I’m afraid.”

“You think she bought my compliance to treason and paid for it with my brother’s life.” 

“Correct, though you would not be an equal accomplice, seeing as you were not informed about several details of her plot. The Fulgurian’s appearance, for example.”

“The summoning wasn’t planned! That man left her no other choice!”

“Are you certain about that? Lunafreya Nox Fleuret arranged for a decoy purely so she could visit the island of Angelgard. She had foreseen enough of the events that followed to seek alliance with an Astral, a force that would allow her to single-handedly rout the Imperial army. I believe I needn’t point out that, contrary to her title, the Oracle cannot predict the future.”

“She wouldn’t lie to me,” Crowe said in a tone that sounded as if it was aimed at herself.

“Did she tell you that the invasion was proposed by none other that her brother, Imperial Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret?”

“No, she didn’t.”

The quiet interlude which followed was lined with the smell of defeat. Crowe looked injured in a place no light couldn’t reach. From his place at the prosecutor’s seat, Ignis laced his hands against the table, to brace himself for the cruel task of seeing this trial through to the end.

“Ms. Altius, are you aware of the events which led to the annexing of Tenebrae to the Niflheim Empire?”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Crowe replied, head rising and posture invigorated by a sudden wave of surprise. 

“Twelve years ago, a fire broke out in Fenestala Manor that claimed the life of the last Oracle, Lady Sylva Nox Fleuret.”

“The Imperial army was called in to contain the incident,” Crowe continued the tale. “The Oracle’s children were taken into Niflheim’s custody, alongside the sacred nation of Tenebrae itself, to prevent such tragedies from occuring again.” She spoke with the voice of someone who knew they were reciting a lie. 

“In truth, what was reported to the public as an accident was a coordinated attempt against the life of His Majesty, who at the time was a child of eight years, visiting with his father to seek the Oracle’s counsel on his failing health.”

Noctis was doing his best to remain unseen while others talked about him. Crowe watched him writhe inside his seat, retreating into himself as if he was trying to disappear.

“Why are you telling me all this?” she asked, turning back to Ignis. 

“Because on that day, the Lucian royalty managed to escape, while the House of Nox Fleuret was left to suffer in their stead, losing the freedom of their entire nation in the process. And Commander Ravus, the very instigator of the attack against Insomnia, never bothered hiding his resentment over the fact that our late King ran while the Oracle burned.” 

Crowe knew what question would come next, and she was not prepared for it.

“Ms. Altius, would you entertain the notion that you were a pawn in a series of machinations aimed at exacting revenge upon Lucis?”

“No.”

Her answer was firm, unrelenting. She had regained her composure, her confident stillness, yet the atmosphere in the room was strung high, like a piano chord ready to snap. Luna could feel the tension vibrating through the walls long before Noctis’s laughter was heard.

“What touching loyalty.” 

Everyone turned to look at the young King, who was shaking with venomous mirth. “My father picked you up from the gutter,” he wiggled his fingers playfully, “and like the rats you are, you scampered as soon as his back hit the floor. Turned upon each other, waited to feast on his guts and the kingdom you swore to protect.”

Luna had never heard Noctis speak this way, but then again, neither had anyone else. Prompto was red to the tip of his ears, his bitten nails digging painfully into the rough fabric of his jeans. Gladiolus’s sternness had drained out of his face, giving way to a petrified bewilderment that he had no idea how to handle. The council sat frozen in trepidated awe. No one dared reply. Only Ignis set his glasses aside to massage the bridge of his nose, tight-lipped.

Noctis seemed to be seconds away from collapsing in physical and mental exhaustion, yet ready to bring down a rain of swords and resolve the situation just how the Draconian would. He had spoken without looking at the woman before him, his burned-out gaze tethered to some inconspicuous point above her head. Whether it was scorn or weakness on his part, one couldn’t know.

“Your Highness…” 

“This entire thing is an absolute joke,” Noctis spat out. His shoulders were still shaking, but not with laughter. “We were at Gauldin Quay sampling sports drinks, Ignis! We had a seafood risotto and shopped for postcards while people were getting slaughtered. Do you remember the reports? The Citadel was gutted from the inside out, along with everyone occupying it, as its brand new King napped the evening away and played cards with his friends.”

“Your Highness, please.”

“Did you see my dad’s autopsy report? I ascended to the throne at the same time we were pulling that big barramundi out of the sea. Prompto took a photo. It’s really funny. You can actually see the storm clouds on the horizon, but none of us noticed.” 

Luna saw her body reach forward reluctantly. A gloved hand that belonged to both her and Prompto moved onto Noctis’s back for reassurance. Under the thin fabric of the young King’s t-shirt, her fingertips brushed a large scar. His name was about to spill out of her lips in his best friend’s voice when the shock of bodily contact pulled him back into reality, just as he was beginning to teeter on the edge of dissociation. Noctis jerked away, the chord finally snapping.

“I said don’t touch me!”

Glass shattered with a deafening sound. Noctis’s right arm lowered slowly to his side. It had lashed out with so much violence only a moment before, and he had screamed in earnest. Now he watched in breathless horror while Ignis picked up a broken camera from the floor. It had been sitting innocently on Prompto’s lap until that point; a small token of comfort in the turmoil that had engulfed them all. A wide crack was now spread across its lens, reflecting Noctis’s own state of mind. Prompto was trembling. Luna could feel the twist in his gut as he muttered an apology to no one in particular and fumbled to gather the pieces. Gladiolus had began to move when Ignis gripped on his knee under the table, instructing him through gritted teeth to wait. 

Noctis blinked, lost, dizzy. “I didn’t mean to” was all he managed before he pulled himself away from his seat. Pushing past a stunned Crowe, he crossed the room in desperate haste and threw open the doors. No one attempted to stop him; no one aside from Prompto himself, who dropped what he was doing with a start and ran around the table. Luna heard him call the King by his first name, etiquette and protocol be damned in the despair of the moment. The rest of them could only watch as the last heir of Lucis disappeared behind the heavy scrape of blackwood, still dressed in the trainers and sweaty t-shirt from his last fishing trip.

The Citadel was labyrinthine.

In a different dream, Luna had ran through these halls with him, hand in hand. Her white pleated skirts were stained from a day out in the gardens, her blouse loosened around the neck. She was a woman and a girl all at once, free of pain in her flat shoes. Noctis was smiling, his legs carrying him without ever having the need for a wheelchair.

In this dream, Pryna observed her from the distance; a living reminder that these events were real and Luna was merely witnessing the memory through someone else’s eyes. The dog was a perfect image of calmness in the unfolding chaos, witnessing each scene in silence while the humans struggled to redeem the irredeemable. The past had already been written, and out of every creature in the Citadel, Pryna seemed to be the only one accepting this truth. 

Prompto did not look back. Luna only knew her surroundings out of pure intuition. The owner of the distraught body she occupied had no mind for anything other than his King. His friend. Prompto lost him only to find him curled up a corner, sheltered away from the light. Noctis was not like his father on that matter, he did not cry with dignity. Throwing his sword, he had warped and stumbled away on unsteady feet until he found shelter in a statue’s shadow. His strength was faded by that point. All he could do was try and hide his face between his knees. His breath hitched in a way that had nothing to do with running.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said and Prompto replied with the boldness of someone who had forgotten his social station.

“Neither should you.”

They looked at each other for a long minute and Noctis forgot he was ashamed of his blotchy red cheeks. Prompto offered him a hand and the other boy took it in gratitude, rising to his feet before their bodies converged into a tight embrace. There was no telling who had initiated it, but neither of them resisted. No one was there to see or judge. Their fingers laced without a thought while their chests continued to move quietly against one another. They knew this fragile moment would not last. Noctis’s head rested easily against his shorter friend’s shoulder, nestling between sinuous muscle and downy blonde hair. Prompto’s skin was always warm, comforting. Beneath it, a vein pulsed nervously in that long neck. The beat was even stronger at times like these when the scent of Noctis’s aftershave surrounded them both. The two boys’ jaws brushed and Luna’s stomach fluttered when she felt Prompto’s overwhelming desire to kiss her fiance. A lot had been left unsaid in the twelve years she had spent imprisoned in her home. Not only between Noctis and her, but between Noctis and others too.

“I’m sorry,” she heard him say and Prompto shook his head. Forgiveness passed between them without a sound. Being so inelegant with words, they had both learned to do without. They pulled away, eventually, and Noctis wiped his face, visibly embarrassed once his sense of place came flooding back. He straightened his back, stirred by masculine pride, and made an attempt at eye contact.

“I’m going back.”

“To the courtroom?”

“No.”

Prompto understood and Luna didn’t, though both of them looked equally unhappy about their respective knowledge. They followed Noctis through the building, past the old gallery and into a wing that had stayed unused since his great-grandfather’s reign. The door they stopped before was locked in three places. There were no keyholes nor other visible means of opening, yet each of them gave way as soon as Noctis touched it. The Citadel was more than a home for the descendants of the Lucii, Luna remembered. It was an extension of their divine heritage, a ribcage of steel brought to life by the Crystal at its centre. 

The door creaked open and the three of them were greeted by the musty smell of antique furniture. A whole era was preserved there, in the sculpted cherry wood, the yellowing lace curtains, the tea table that sat by the window. One of the porcelain cups was still steaming, its edge peeking out from behind a painted silk screen used to separate a portion of the room for guests’ privacy. A bed stood, recently made, in the opposite corner, though Luna noticed the covers were too pristine for someone to have slept on it. The only thing that appeared to have been touched was the bookshelf, with a small pile of leather-bound tomes removed and stacked near the foot of the table.

Noctis didn’t announce himself to his guest. “Hey,” was all he said as he walked near, suddenly shy and quiet despite the aura of casual confidence he tried to put on. He leaned on the wall beside the window, arms folded in guarded nervousness despite the fact that he was towering over whomever sat before him.

The guest’s reply did not reach Luna’s ears. 

Prompto had chosen to linger near a dresser, far away from the silk screen, oddly interested in a miniature pair of goldfish sculpted out of blown glass. They were set on a tray that resembled a lotus pond, complete with little rose quartz flowers and a rippling surface of translucent blue waves. He was chewing on the inside of his mouth again and Luna could tell that it was not out of an appreciation for the arts. 

“You were telling the truth all along,” she heard Noctis say from afar. His voice was lower than usual, yet just enough to carry itself across the room. The other person spoke softly, each word inaudible at that distance. Only the clinking of fine bone china indicated some response.

“I should have never doubted you. I just...” Noctis’s posture withered into something resembling shame. “It’s all so much to take in. I trusted her blindly.”

Luna’s stomach lurched and so did Prompto’s. The latter found this a good time to rearrange the pieces on an ivory chess board and move the queen out of her bind with the enemy’s bishop.

“I should have known,” Noctis spoke again with pained exasperation. “Her brother never missed a chance to remind my dad how much he despised us, simply for being alive. Cursed the Niffs over what happened in Tenebrae, but had no problem joining their side if it meant seizing power for himself. What made me think his sister was different?” 

A muffled question accompanied the shift of a chair over the aged carpet.

“The Glaive? She sounds brainwashed. Saw her King murdered in cold blood, saw the Oracle commit the crime and run away with my family’s ring, yet somehow believes it’s all some great misunderstanding.” Noctis rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Luna is persuasive. She fooled me, after all. And being the trusting idiot that I am, I fell for…”

The guest interrupted him and the boy nodded. “Rhetorician, yeah. A sweet tongue meant for soothing the gods and comforting the sick and well,” Noctis laughed bitterly and folded his arms back, “fooling idiots who will believe anything a pretty girl tells them. Some Niff tutor somewhere must be proud. Luna made a good student. Whatever came out of her mouth was good enough to talk an Astral into joining her side. The witch from Galahd stood no chance.”

Out of the corner of Prompto’s eye, Luna saw her fiance push away from the wall and approach the table, his whole being coloured by regret and guilt. 

“Sorry, I didn’t come here to rant at you. You’ve already suffered enough. You stayed back to warn us and we treated you like a criminal. I… ”

Offended by his conversation partner’s humble response, Noctis began to tense up. Refusing to hear any more, he gripped on the back of a spare chair and shook his head, voice rising in indignation. “No. You’ve done so much for me before I even met you. That engagement proposal, I didn’t understand it at the time but I do now. You couldn’t stop the invasion, so you gave my dad a cover to send me out of Insomnia. It was a lie, it was never going to happen, but,” he paused and his tone softened, “it kept me safe, alongside my...” 

The young King’s words trailed off and his gaze unwillingly drifted to Prompto, who no longer had an excuse to keep his distance. Luna could feel his throat constrict as he made to Noctis’s side, just in time to hear the latter part of the stranger’s reply.

“...a dangerous course of action, considering no one is left alive to vouch for my honour, but it was the only one my conscience would allow. A double agent knows when to reveal his true loyalties, even under threat of disbelief and prosecution. We live in grim times, and my place is with your Majesty.”

Noctis was suddenly red in embarrassment. “Don’t say things like that. We are family.”

“The only family left for both of us, distant relatives as we may be.”

The man’s voice was kind, uncannily so. It dripped with a sweetness that unsettled Prompto on a deep, guttural level. The boy refused to lift his eyes, content to study the tea set while he was being studied himself. The liquid concoction was red enough to resemble Midgardsormr blood, and Luna watched as gloved fingers unwrapped from a cup to gesture excitedly. 

“No need for such shyness, dear. Come close, let me look at the fine young thing you’ve grown into.” The man paused to grip Prompto by the waist, who was pulled to make a half-turn, like an animal on display. “Goodness, look at those arms. Has it truly been twenty years since I held you as a squealing baby? How I wish you could remember. We’ve been through so much, you and I.” He let go and turned back to his tea, lifting the cup to his lips with a wave of faux sentimentality. “A whole march through the dreadful Gralean winter with only the stars to guide us and the Chocobo Song to quell your cries.”

By then, Luna knew exactly who was talking, and together with Prompto she had to fight the urge to throw up. Noctis was smiling, happier than anyone had seen him since the beginning of this ordeal. He reached to brush the small of Prompto’s back, as the latter jerked and retreated, wrists covering one another in subconscious fear. The other boy didn’t notice, overflowing as he was with silent gratitude. 

She watched as her fiance took the hand that had commanded his kingdom’s downfall, oblivious to all truth. The older man’s wrists were bound, yet he looked entirely at ease, sitting cross legged in a white shirt while his waistcoat and scarf hanged nearby. Luna had last seen his hat fly off into the storm, yet there it was again, beside a vase of fresh flowers. 

Noctis, raspy and vulnerable, spoke again. He promised to deliver justice upon those who had earned it, and the man hushed him gently. 

“Who could have foreseen the Oracle’s betrayal? At the end of that long night, she took neither Niff nor Lucian side, instead walking away with one’s army slain and the other’s capital torn asunder. Her brother, the High General himself, had abandoned his post right before. The message sent to both nations was the same; House Nox Fleuret is loyal only to itself, and revenge is its first priority. Anyone who had a hand in the fall of Tenebrae is an enemy.”

The young King could only nod, choking on tears long overdue. His back was quaking with audible sobs that he could no longer hold back. The taller man glanced above the boy's shoulder. A pair of smoldering amber eyes found Prompto’s own. Luna could feel his gaze violate Prompto's mind; shifting through his thoughts like a thief rummages through a drawer. 

“Uncle,” Noctis said and suddenly Luna’s ears were ringing with a wail she couldn't let out. “Thank you, for everything.” 

“You are welcome,” Ardyn replied with all the tenderness of his new title. “My brother would have been so proud to see you take your place on the throne.” 

He cocked his head to the side, and Luna knew that his spider smile was meant for _her._

She woke up in her bed, screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come for the porn, stay for the plot.


End file.
